I read an article this morning about a little boy in Massachusetts who was gone for months before he was reported missing.

His body was found this week.

Stories about five year old murder victims whose whole lives were defined by abuse, neglect, and pain do not go with our Sunday best, our Easter celebration. These are hell stories.

These would remain hell stories without Jesus.

What Jesus does with the stories of lost children is what matters.

He takes the pain of broken lives.

He restores the impossible–life for death, peace for pain, love for hate.

The cost too high to calculate: he pays it.

So it doesn’t have to feel like Easter to me. I can face the loneliness of my own story–

Fostering the broken

Adopting the rebellious

Taking on the identity of the crimes committed against those I love.

No easy answers.

Just Jesus, alive, for me.